


Misstep

by Phoenix_Soar



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley is a Tease (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Euphemisms, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar
Summary: When Crowley saunters into Aziraphale's bookshop after his two-month nap, he is expecting a lot of things: a happy Angel, cake tastings, plans for lunch, maybe even a kiss.He doesn't get them. Under Aziraphale's cool stare, Crowley scrambles to figure out where he misstepped.OR: Crowley and Aziraphale share a brain cell, but the two halves aren't always in synch.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 285
Collections: AwakeTheSnake, Good Omens Lockdown fics





	Misstep

**Author's Note:**

> Late to the Good Omens: Lockdown party bc I still have a full-time job, but that video consumed my soul and I just had to get this out!
> 
> OK so, Crowley and Aziraphale always had a verbal dance going on between them, yeah? Crowley suggests they do something, Aziraphale refuses, Crowley then rephrases and insists, and Aziraphale concedes. And that got me thinking, what if Aziraphale had said no in the Lockdown video, hoping for Crowley to take the next step in their dance? But then he _didn’t_.
> 
> Which resulted in this fic whoops

Sleeping for two months is hardly a big deal when you’re a supernatural entity without an expiry date.

In fact, for a supernatural entity that slept away a whole century just because he could*, two months is relatively a nap.

(* Among other, pettier reasons.)

Still, Crowley is glad when his alarm finally goes off and July greets him with people. On the streets!

Relatively fewer people than before and all of them are wearing face masks, from what Crowley can see from his flat’s balcony. But still, people on the streets - vehicles, even! - means that the worst of it has passed and Crowley won’t be so transcendentally bored anymore.

He can jump on the plethora of activities he has been itching to do, and all of them begin with -

‘Angel!’ Crowley sings as he saunters through the doors of Aziraphale’s bookshop which fly open for him.

Everything looks gloriously the same. The shelves and side tables are stacked with books in a haphazard arrangement known only to their owner, and dust motes catch the cheerful sunlight filtering in through the windows. Crowley throws his head back and inhales that familiar, faint musty smell Aziraphale encourages to passive aggressively turn away potential customers from his precious collection.

And then the Angel himself appears on the threshold leading to the backroom. He is dressed in frumpy clothes just like the last time Crowley saw him, and holding a plate of what looks to be chocolate cake.

Crowley’s grin broadens. All is right with the world and his day has gotten ten times better.

‘ _Hul_ -lo, Aziraphale.’ Folding his arms, Crowley makes to lean against the nearest bookshelf.

And misses.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows make a slow, sardonic journey up his forehead as Crowley flails, all four limbs flapping in four different directions to find purchase _somewhere_ with exactly zero success. He bangs his shin on a side table displaying the complete works of Jane Austen and is on a steady tangent to face plant until he sets off a demonic miracle at the last second.

A blast of power, like an angry little geyser that shoots up from the floor, slaps him back upright, arms folded and hips nonchalantly cocked to the right.

 _Pride and Prejudice_ hits the ground with a _thud_.

Crowley freezes.

Aziraphale hasn’t moved a muscle since he appeared from the backroom. His wide blue eyes slide from the panicking Demon to the thick volume lying sorrily on the floor.

Two seconds tick by.

Crowley swoops down to pick up the book, grasping it with the same level of care* he had once given a certain flask of water. Turning it over in his hands, Crowley makes sure that the book is not damaged, breathes a sigh of relief, sends a silent apology to his old friend**, and then prepares to apologise to his oldest friend.

(* Terror.

** If she were still around, Jane would’ve rolled her eyes at Crowley’s _suave_ display in front of Aziraphale - just like that time Crowley tripped over the hem of her own gown when Aziraphale walked into a ball all three of them attended. Jane told Crowley later that she was the inspiration for the character Lydia Bennet. Crowley had never been so amused and horrified in her existence.)

‘The book’s a-okay,’ he tells Aziraphale quickly, holding it up gingerly and then placing it back on the Austen pile. ‘Sorry ‘bout that, angel.’

Aziraphale looks back at him for a long moment. ‘Are you all right?’

Crowley blinks, and then slowly removes his glasses. ‘Me?’

‘You hit your leg rather painfully, I thought.’

‘Ah.’ Crowley shakes out his right leg. There is still a slight sting but it disappears with a thought. ‘Nah. Right as rain.’

Some of the tension leaves Aziraphale’s face, softening his features. ‘Oh, good.’

For a moment, he looks about to smile - finally! - and Crowley anticipates Aziraphale’s affectionate grin and the enthusiastic welcome he has been thinking about from the moment he woke up.

‘You seem energetic. Had a good sleep, did you?’

Crowley blinks again, and that’s too many times in the span of a minute. Aziraphale hasn’t looked away but his expression is still civil* at best.

(* _Polite_ at worst.)

‘Refreshing,’ Crowley mutters, taken aback.

Careening into a table of books aside, this is not at all how he thought this would play out. It’s missing a few ‘ _Oh Crowley_ ’s and ‘ _my dear_ ’s, for one thing. A welcome-back peck if not a whole snog, maybe. For Someone’s sake, Crowley had taken a shower - the human way! - and used his best-smelling sandalwood soap and everything this morning!

‘I’m glad to hear,’ Aziraphale responds in that same cool tone.

Crowley fidgets. Is this still about the book? It’s not damaged but he did knock it down and he knows how Aziraphale gets about his books.

‘Are you angry about the …’ Crowley gestures vaguely at the Austen collection, making sure the side table is not within reach of any of his limbs. ‘It was an accident, angel, I -’

‘No, the book wasn’t damaged,’ Aziraphale interrupts.

‘Right,’ Crowley mutters. So Aziraphale isn’t upset about the book. Then what exactly has got the Angel’s knickers in a twist?

Aziraphale shifts his attention to the plate he’s carrying, supremely ignoring Crowley as he picks up a fork and primly* spears himself a helping of chocolate cake.

(* How Aziraphale is able to look prim while doing that, Crowley has no idea. But then again, the Angel is the only one Crowley has ever heard utter the words ‘lick some serious butt’ with unironic primness, so…)

Taking a bite, Aziraphale spins on his heel and returns to his backroom. He glances back at Crowley over his shoulder just before he turns the corner, giving the Demon a split second view of the fork sliding out from between his pursed lips.

And then Aziraphale is gone and Crowley is left feeling very, very confused. And more than a little hot around the collar.

Crowley isn’t sure if any of what just happened counts as an invitation*, but well, Aziraphale hasn’t kicked him out exactly.

(* Aziraphale has _range_ when it comes to _invitations_ , Crowley has found out over the past year - and all of them is enough to send the blood rushing to Crowley’s face.**

** At least, the fraction that doesn’t rush the opposite way.)

‘Screw it,’ Crowley mutters to himself and ambles after the Angel, his legs wobbly.

Aziraphale is putting down the plate on his worktable when Crowley enters. He doesn’t look round when Crowley hesitates in the middle of the room for a few seconds, before awkwardly perching on the arm of the old sofa.

‘So …’ Crowley begins, still feeling wrong-footed. ‘Still baking up a storm around here?’

‘Lockdown lifted a fortnight ago’, says Aziraphale, taking a seat in his usual chair. ‘I haven’t baked in a week.’

‘Ah. Did you finish them all by yourself or were there more burglars to chastise with baked goods?’

‘Well, if you must know, the two young men I sent off returned a week later,’ Aziraphale says with sniff. ‘They came to the front door this time and asked if I had more cake. It seems my baking skills left quite the impression.’

‘Really?’ Crowley drawls, starting to grin.

‘Flattering, but it was deeply irresponsible to be out and about, of course. And the interruption pulled me right out of a deeply immersive reading experience! I had to have stronger words with them.’

Pausing, Aziraphale meets Crowley’s gaze. ‘It might’ve been easier if there had been a snake in the shop to discourage would-be burglars.’

Crowley stills at that, eyes widening. ‘What do you … wait, you wished I was here?’

Aziraphale remains as he is, seated all posed and proper in his chair, chin lifted and eyes unwavering. None of that offsets the heavy blush steadily blooming on his cheeks.

Crowley furrows his brow, recalling the conversation they had over the phone before he crawled into bed.

‘You told me not to break the rules,’ he points out.

‘You’re a Demon, you always break the rules. Instead, you went into a coma.’

‘I took a nap.’

‘You were gone for _two months_!’ Aziraphale cries. He inhales sharply at his own outburst and looks down at his lap, chagrined.

Crowley raises an eyebrow. ‘Yeah … after you refused my offer to keep you company.’

‘Well, it’s not like you _insisted_ ,’ Aziraphale huffs.

The second eyebrow joins the first. ‘What?’

Aziraphale is half-glaring, half-pouting at him, wringing his hands in his lap. He manages to keep up the silence for a good ten seconds before finally bursting out,

‘That’s what you always do! Even if I refuse, you always press me on things you want to do. You’ve been pressing me for as long as the Earth has existed!’

Crowley parses this sudden flood of information. He is finally starting to get the picture.

‘Aziraphale,’ he drawls, lips beginning to curve up, ‘are you actually upset because I didn’t insist on coming over anyway?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Aziraphale says, and oh, he’s definitely pouting now.

‘I believe that’s exactly what you said.’ Crowley is fully smirking now, his heart doing an odd little jig inside his chest. Leaving his perch on the sofa, he approaches Aziraphale in a few, long strides. ‘Did you miss me, angel?’

Aziraphale is stubbornly maintaining his irritated facade but lets Crowley pull him to his feet. ‘What’s to miss? A bloody nightmare, is what you are.’

Crowley chuckles and tugs the Angel forward, winding his arms lazily around his plush middle. ‘Missed you too, angel.’

Aziraphale scoffs even as he allows himself to be pressed flush against Crowley’s front. ‘How? You were dead to the world.’

‘And who do you think all my dreams were filled with?’ Crowley says archly.

Aziraphale begins to sputter, his cheeks flaming.

With a laugh, Crowley leans forward, brushing their noses together. ‘So, did you save any cake for me? I should like to sample your baking escapades.’

‘Oh, I’m afraid this is all I have left now,’ says Aziraphale, immediately distracted by the topic of cake. Crowley loosens his hold so that the Angel can pick up his plate.

‘Although it’s been a week, it still tastes divine, if I do say so myself,’ says Aziraphale enthusiastically, helping himself to a generous forkful that leaves a smear of ganache on the corner of his mouth. ‘I could bake another, but for now, would you like to shar - ?’

Aziraphale is cut off because, well, it’s _right there_ , isn’t it? How, on any plane of existence, is Crowley expected to resist?

The Angel squeaks a little when Crowley leans down and slowly drags his tongue over his lips, licking off the smeared chocolate.

‘W-what are you _doing_?’

Crowley hums under his breath, savouring the rich, sweet taste. ‘Having a taste of angel, of course.’

Aziraphale squirms in his arms, his expression a mixture of flustered indignation and want. ‘It’s not angel food cake, it’s chocolate ganache.’

‘Yeah?’ Crowley leans in, and this time, captures Aziraphale’s bottom lip between his, sucking on it leisurely until he can feel the Angel trembling. Pressing a proper kiss to his mouth, Crowley draws back with a smirk. ’Tastes pretty angelic to me.’

‘You’re incorrigible,’ Aziraphale says, but he is still pink in the face and there is no bite to his words.

‘Eh. Demon, ‘member?’ Crowley shrugs. ‘So, how about we pop out for a spot of lunch, then? Are the restaurants open now? Want to do the Ritz?’

‘A bit early for lunch, isn’t it,’ Aziraphale says with a sniff. He gives Crowley a pointed look.

Crowley almost laughs, realising what Aziraphale wants him to do. Oh, but his Angel is quite the bastard.

‘Brunch, then. We could go for a walk at St James afterwards. Feed the ducks, maybe even stop for ice cream. C’mon, angel, I _insssissst_.’

‘Oh, well, all right,’ Aziraphale sighs, looking put upon.

Crowley almost snorts. _Bastard_ , he thinks fondly.

They’re settling into his Bentley when Aziraphale suddenly asks, his voice quiet, ‘Will you return to your flat after?’

Crowley considers as he inserts ‘The Complete Recordings of Rachmaninoff’ and the Bentley begins to croon, _I can dim the lights and sing you songs…_

‘Maybe I can hunker down at your place tonight,’ says Crowley. He turns to Aziraphale with a mischievous smile. ‘Eat some … angel cake.’

Aziraphale’s cheeks turn rosy, but his voice is prim as he answers, ‘Hmm. I do believe I can … provide enough to last us a while.’

‘Oh? How long?’

The Angel turns to look out of the window but not before Crowley catches his smirk. ’For as long as you like, my dear.’

**Author's Note:**

> I had one goal and one goal only - to write Aziraphale being a bastard and Crowley a disaster flirt
> 
> I like to think they are at this blurred point of established relationship, where they haven’t verbally said ‘we're married let's live together’ but they are getting used to the freedom to be together and shamelessly flirt/touch/date
> 
> Thanks for reading, folks! Please drop a comment to share your thoughts, they make my day! You can also hmu on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) or [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


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